


Parting Words

by etiquettedarling



Category: The Autobiography of Jane Eyre
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etiquettedarling/pseuds/etiquettedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane attends the party for roughly 45 minutes before leaving.</p>
<p>(post episode 19)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parting Words

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This was written between midnight and three am, and I feel like there is a chance I fundamentally misunderstood Jane as a character in this, but then I am also prone to exaggeration. Either way, enjoy.

Jane ducks out of the party the first chance she gets. The people are intimidating and well dressed and kind of horribly passive aggressive and she can’t stop herself from mentally pairing off Rochester with the sophisticated women he apparently spends the majority of his socialising time with. Well if she’s being completely honest (and she can do that, without the blinking red light of her camera staring at her until she’s figured out the best way to edit around her real feelings) she just can’t stop staring at him. It’s like watching his face warm with a wry smile is the single most fascinating thing she’s ever seen and she literally can’t tear her eyes from it.

Thankfully, if the loud conversation Blanche is having (about her deep loathing of Nannies as a ‘class’, whatever _that_ means) is anything to go on, no one really notices she’s even there. As she gradually shrinks further and further into her armchair she feels incredibly stupid. There’s no one here for her to talk to and Rochester is- _whatever_. She's not staring at him. He’s talking to Blanche pretty intently and Jane is _wearing jeans at a freaking cocktail party_ and she figures, as someone starts banging away at a piano with enthusiasm but little talent, that it’s about time she left.

She gets to the foot of the stairs before she hears footsteps behind her. She spins, the face she had been staring at all night swimming into focus a foot or so away from her. Taken aback momentarily, Jane allows him to speak first. 

“How are you Jane?”

“Fine, thanks”

She adjusts her gaze so she’s looking over his left shoulder rather than his face and feels that unpleasant clenching and fluttering in her chest that she has been doing her best to ignore all evening. She knows keeping her expression passive isn’t going to do much to hide her mortification (she knows from when she was younger and constantly upset that her ears and chest flush bright red).

He throws out a couple of questions, awkward chit chat mostly and she obliges readily. Her face cools down somewhat, and then he asks why she didn’t approach him to speak during the awful forty-five minutes she actually spent in that detestable party.

“You looked pretty busy”

“You should stay, it’s still early”

“I’m tired”

“You seem upset, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine”

“You’re just tired?”

“Just tired”

The conversation has reached a dizzying level of repetition and she can feel herself flush again. A plume of warmth spreads up her neck and creeps across her face like a rash. Somehow, his questioning is making her feel worse, embarrassed and like a silly little girl. Blanche’s laugh echoes out the open door of the lounge and rings, bell like over the low bubblings of conversation. After a second Jane realises that she’s actively, _embarassingly_ , fighting back tears and quickly adjusts her gaze so that she’s staring at his elbow instead.

“Right”

Something in the very back of his tone softens and in that weird way that seems to always happen with him, she just knows he can tell from that solitary word.

“Well if you insist you should leave, could you check on Adele on your way up?”

“Of course” She clears her throat and looks him straight in the eyes holding his gaze for a charged moment, the second of eye contact steadies her fleetingly, like for a second they're mutually grounded. At any rate she manages to get out: “I hope you enjoy the rest of the party” before having to glance away.

As he offers his own farewell his hand draws upwards towards her shoulder as if he intends to rest it there yet before it settles he seems to realise what he’s doing and pull back. His hand hovers ineffectively in the space beside her upper arm for a moment before he brings it down to a pocket.

“Welcome back” Jane replies before turning and breathlessly, mercifully, heading up the stairs.


End file.
